Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) by Amber Rides Read Free Book Online Page B

they hugged his ass perfectly.  It was too bad that a fresh brush and a t-shirt obstructed my view.  I pinched my own arm as a punishment for thinking it, and took another step toward him.
    His gruff voice made me freeze. 
    “You can stop trying to sneak up on me, blondie. I can smell your stank-ass Gucc-uess-anel-berry perfume from here,” he said without turning around.
    My irritation spiked.  How did he make himself sound like that – sexy and dirty at the same time?  Like he’d smoked a pack of cigarettes and found the cure for lung cancer all at once.  And more importantly, why did I like it so much?
    Because it’s his bedroom voice, I answered myself.
    “Fuck you,” I said, before remembering why the phrase was off limits.
    He didn’t let it slide, either.
    “Later,” he replied in that same, lying-in-bed-with-my-boxer-briefs-on-and-nothing-else voice.
    Goddammit.
    “Can I help you with something, princess, or are you just here to ogle the help?”
    “I wasn’t ogling,” I protested, then stopped as I realized how defensive I sounded.
    “If you’re going to tell me how wet I made you the other day…”
    A flush crept up my neck. “Hardly.”
    “ What? I was just going to say that I already know. I filled the bucket myself and dumped it myself, too, didn’t I? Oh wait. You thought I meant…” He trailed off with a lascivious chuckle. “I guess you’re here about our unfinished business, then. Not to worry, baby-doll.  I took care of that myself.”
    “I don’t even want to know.”
    But it was a lie.  I did want to know.  Desperately.
    “Well, I won’t tell you about her then.”
    Her?  Jealousy, unexpected and unwanted, made my temple throb. 
    “I’m just here to give you a message,” I said in a tight voice.
    “So give it.” 
    He kept painting, and the rhythmic motion of his lateral muscles moving up and down with the brush rendered me momentarily speechless.
    “Any time is fine,” he added.
    “You could at least do me the courtesy of not making me give it to your backside.”
    “I’ve never had any complaints about my ass before.”
    “Well log this as the first of many, then,” I grumbled.
    He turned to me slowly, a smirk on his face.  Heat bloomed between my thighs as he ran a lazy look up and down my body, pausing at my short skirt, and again at my chest before he finally stopped at my face.
    “Nice outfit.”
    “I’m playing tennis,” I said with a lame gulp.
    “Did I ask?”
    Did he have to? His gaze said it all.
    “The club is very traditional,” I added. “We have a dress code. Which actually brings me to my point. You’re not following it.”
    His smirk widened to an amused grin. “I’m afraid I couldn’t do that particular outfit justice. I don’t have the legs for it. But it suits you in an uptight kinda way.”
    “You’re super funny,” I said, my voice dripping with enough sarcasm to make my mother cringe. “But not everyone appreciates a redneck skin-show while eating their brunch. It makes some people want to puke up their eggs benedict.”
    “Like, who, specifically?”
    Like me.  But the lie stuck in my throat.  Because really…I did appreciate it.  And the last thing I needed was him calling me out for it.
    “Like my mother,” I said instead.
    He chuckled again, a low, unsettling sound that made me want to do…Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.  Then he grabbed his white, V-neck from his back pocket.  When he slipped it over his head, I realized it was almost worse.  The t-shirt dipped low along his collarbone and hugged his abs.  The understated sex appeal made my lips tingle.
    “Thank you.”
    I turned on my heel and headed back toward my brunch, sure that I somehow failed to get the upper hand I’d been counting on.

 
    CUTTER
     
    When she spun on those dress code tennis shoes, flipping up that dress code skirt and bouncing that dress code ponytail, my pants became uncomfortably tight in all the right